


Chipped Off The Old Block

by mad_martha



Series: The Lodger Series [7]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: AU, Gen, Humour, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-03
Updated: 2011-07-03
Packaged: 2017-10-21 00:10:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,664
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/218643
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mad_martha/pseuds/mad_martha
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eleven years post-"The Lodger" and a new generation faces the Sorting Hat.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Chipped Off The Old Block

"Relax," Harry told Ron, amused.  "You saw this almost every year we were at school.  There's nothing to worry about!"

"Speak for yourself.  It's not every day you see your own kids being Sorted," retorted Ron. 

"No.  Normally you wouldn't see it at all."  Pure chance had brought Harry and Ron to Hogwarts on the first day of term and Snape had made an unusual exception, letting them view the Sorting from a hidden window above the great hall.

Harry leaned over the balcony now and watched the seething mass of black-robed children below.  His eyes strayed to the high table where the teachers were gathering.  Even beneath the pointed hat, he recognised Professor Gabrielle Delacour's shining blonde hair.  It was a curious counterpoint to the silver blond of the man next to her – a certain Potions Master by the name of Malfoy.

A smile curved Harry's lips and, as if he heard a silent call, Draco raised his eyes towards the hidden balcony.  He couldn't see Harry or Ron, of course, for the window was concealed in the illusionary sky of the ceiling, but he knew they were there and he smiled faintly before turning back to his dinner companion.

A hush fell over the great hall and the doors opened.  In solemn procession, the new first-years followed Neville Longbottom, Professor of Herbology, down the central aisle to where the Sorting Hat waited on its stool before the Headmaster's seat.  Harry could see three familiar faces in the group – the dusky face and curly red hair of Rory Weasley, Fred and Angelina's youngest child, and the tousled red mops of Ron and Hermione's twins, Harry and Lucien.  All three looked excited and scared in equal measures.

Ron's grip on the balcony tightened as he spied his sons in the group. 

Over at the Gryffindor table were yet more Weasleys; Rory's three older sisters, Charlie's son and daughter, and a scattering of cousins.  Bill and Ginny's respective children weren't yet old enough to attend the school.

Neville gave the usual speech about the Sorting to the first-years, then started to call out their names from his list.

"Have all your family been Gryffindors?" Harry asked, trying to distract Ron.

"Pretty much," was the tense reply.

"Then what are you worrying about?"  He couldn't help but be amused.  Draco had taken great pleasure over the summer in teasing Ron by suggesting that the twins were devious enough to be Slytherins.  The idea was pretty ludicrous – the boys were no more devious than their Uncle Fred and his brother George had been in their day – but the notion had apparently taken root in their doting father's mind.

"I'm more worried that they'll be split up," Ron said curtly, and Harry's smile faded.

That was another matter entirely.  The twins were identical and devoted to each other, but there were noticeable differences in their personalities.  They might present a united front when perpetrating their latest instance of diabolical mischief, but while Harry, the eldest, was very outgoing and daring, Lucien was far more retiring.

"The Sorting Hat doesn't make mistakes," Harry reminded Ron gently.  "If they _are_ split up, then perhaps it's a positive thing."

Ron made no response to this, but clearly it didn't make him feel any happier.

"I wonder where Rory will end up," Harry continued.

At this, a ghost of a smile crossed Ron's lips.  Rory's parents might both have been Gryffindors, as were his older sisters, but Rory himself was a different Weasley altogether.  He was bright and self-sufficient, a quiet boy with an insatiable thirst for knowledge.  Harry had a private side bet on with Bill Weasley that the boy would end up in Ravenclaw.

The line of first-years was growing shorter.  The two men watched in silence as a Patil, a Radcliffe, a Turvey and a Suleimen were Sorted.  Then:

"Weasley, Harry!"

Young Harry all but bounced up onto the dais and plopped himself down on the stool.  Neville dropped the Sorting Hat onto his head, and the boy's godfather and namesake in the balcony above grinned as the youngster's excited face disappeared under the brim.  There was a pause.

 _"GRYFFINDOR!"_

The table on the far side of the hall exploded into cheers, and Harry happily charged over to join his cousins.

"Weasley, Lucien!" Neville called.

Lucien scrambled onto the stool and put the Hat on.  There was a pause, and Ron tensed.  Everyone waited.

And waited.

And waited ....

Harry wondered if Lucien was arguing with the Sorting Hat, as he himself had once done.  Even from his distant vantage point, he could see how tightly the boy was clasping his hands in his lap.  At the table behind him, the teachers were all watching with interest, and Draco was leaning forward a little in his seat.

"What's taking so long?" fretted Ron.

"It's an important decision," Harry reminded him helplessly.  "Lucien's not like Harry ...."

At the Gryffindor table, Harry was watching his brother anxiously.

"What if he ends up in Hufflepuff?"  Ron was clearly hell-bent on torturing himself.

"He'll be _fine_.  Hannah will keep an eye on him."  Hannah Abbot, the Professor of History of Magic, was the current Head of Hufflepuff House. 

Three minutes.

"This has to be some kind of record," Harry muttered.

The audience was growing restless and little Rory, the only one left to be Sorted, was getting a petrified look on his face.

And suddenly it was all over.

 _"GRYFFINDOR!"_ the Hat cried.

Neville looked almost as relieved as Lucien as he plucked the Hat from the boy's head, and there was an audible sigh around the room before the Gryffindors cheered their newest member.  Harry thought Ron was going to pass out for a moment, then the proud father gave him a crooked grin.

"Thank God!  Can you imagine what Hermione would have said if I told her they were in different Houses?"

"Weasley, Rory!" Neville called, and he smiled encouragingly at the boy as he took Lucien's place on the stool.  He put the Hat on Rory's head and everyone waited again.  Harry particularly noted the confident expressions of Rory's sisters as they watched.

Then the rip in the Hat's brim parted and –

 _"RAVENCLAW!"_

The Gryffindors were staggered, but Rory hopped off the stool and trotted over to the cheering Ravenclaws with a happy grin.  He clearly wasn't at all upset with the Hat's decision or at being in a different House to his relatives.

Harry whooped softly and punched the air.  "I knew it!  Bill owes me a Galleon!"

 

*

 

"If I didn't know you better," Harry told Draco, deeply amused, "I'd say you were a disappointed man."

"Obviously you don't know me better," Draco replied coolly, as he sorted through the papers on his desk.  "I'm a _very_ disappointed man.  Just think – seven years' worth of potential for teasing Weasley down the drain in less than ten minutes.  Not that there was ever any doubt that your appalling namesake would nail his Gryffindor colours to the mast.  But for a moment or two there I really thought the younger one would surprise us all."

"Not as a Slytherin, though," Harry retorted swiftly.

"You think?  Still waters run deep, and there are some very still waters running through young Lucien.  Probably comes from living in the shadow of his brother.  Your namesake, if you'll pardon me for pointing this out, is the living image of his father at the same age.  Which is a daunting prospect for those of us who have to try and drum some knowledge into his head over the next seven years."

Harry couldn't argue with this assessment.  Indeed, it sometimes seemed that the twins had been named the wrong way around.  Lucien, who had been given his father's middle name, was far closer in temperament to his godfather than was Harry, who had inherited Ron's spitfire temper and stubbornness.

"I hope you'll deal with it better than Snape did with me," he commented.  "I don't think he's ever forgiven me for being my dad's son."

"I'll treat the Weasleys – _all_ of the Weasleys – exactly as I treat every other pupil," was the indifferent response.  "Namely, with the exasperation they deserve."  Draco located his pen and was just about to settle down to answering some correspondence when his eyes fell on his partner.  He glared at him.  "Must you loll on my rug like that?"

Harry grinned at him.  He was sprawled on his stomach in front of the fire; his usual position on those rare occasions when he visited Draco at the school.  "I've been _lolling_ on the rug for the last eleven years," he pointed out. 

"I've noticed and it's hardly ornamental.  Go find your own hearthrug if you're so determined to crawl around on the floor.  Some of us have work to do."

"Are you throwing me out so soon?  I think I'm hurt."  Harry got up and found his cloak, swinging it over one shoulder casually.

"Potter, I've been slouching around with you for the past two months and – _mmf_ _–_ "

Harry had effectively silenced him by nipping quickly around the desk and kissing him.  When they finally parted again, there was a pause and they looked at each other, nose to nose.  Then Harry grinned.

"I'll see you at the weekend, Draco!"

The blond man gave him a tiny grin back.  "Possibly before," he amended.

Harry chuckled as he headed out of the door.

 

*

 

Walking through the corridors of Hogwarts, especially late in the evening, was always an odd, double-vision kind of experience for Harry.  On the one hand there was his adult viewpoint of the place, where everything always looked slightly smaller and less odd than it had when he was a boy.  And then there was the part of him that would forever be eleven years old, noting the animated pictures and moving staircases with a little thrill of delight.

Speaking of which, he was just walking down one of the staircases to the main hall when it suddenly decided to change its direction.  Harry sighed, waiting patiently halfway while the bottom end relocated.  When it finally clunked into position, it was going entirely the wrong way.  He ran back up, remembering to skip over the disappearing step, and set off again.  It would only be completely out of his way to take this route, after all –

"Psst!  Uncle Harry!"

He stopped dead and looked up, astonished.  Two familiar, tousled redheads in matching pyjamas were peering over the stone railings of the floor above.  "What are you two doing out of bed?" he demanded.  "It's nearly midnight and you have classes tomorrow!"

"We were looking for Rory's dorm!"  That was definitely Harry, looking as innocent and angelic as only a Weasley up to mischief could.

"The Ravenclaws are right over the other side of the school, near the Astronomy Tower," Harry told his namesake in a scolding tone as he climbed a staircase to their level.  "And you should _not_ be out of bed after curfew!  If a teacher or the caretaker catches you, you'll have detentions and lose points before you've even started."

 _Let's focus on the downside of being caught, and leave out the bit about rule-breaking being a bad thing, shall we?_ his conscience commented cynically.  Not that he was in a position to be sanctimonious about rule-breaking, and in any case he had all too much experience in the futility of trying to impress on the twins the rights and wrongs of such things. 

"Come on," he said now, getting a firm grip on the pair of them and steering them down the nearest passage.  "Whatever you're up to can wait until morning.  Back to Gryffindor and bed."

"Uncle Harry, what are _you_ doing here?" Lucien demanded, as he trotted along at his godfather's side.

Harry grinned reluctantly.  "Visiting Professor Malfoy, as you well know!"

"Eeeww," his namesake mumbled from his other side.  The twins tended to view Draco with a mixture of awe and irritation.  "Are we really going to have lessons with him?"

"Yes, and I wish him the joy of you, you little horrors," Harry told him.  The boy's freckled face scrunched up into a familiar Ron-grin at him, making him feel quite nostalgic.

There was a sudden banging noise from the end of the corridor, and Harry froze.  "Damn!  That's Peeves – if he catches you, Nitchett'll be here in seconds."

Nitchett was the caretaker, old Filch having died in the Siege of Hogwarts during the war.  Not that there was much appreciable difference in the two men. 

And Peeves hadn't changed at all.

Looking swiftly around, Harry saw a set of familiar tapestries on the opposite wall.  He patted them, then yanked them back.  There was a door set into the panelling underneath which he quickly waved his wand at.  It sprang open.

"In here!" he told the boys, who tumbled eagerly through the hole.  He dived in after them and quickly shut the door behind him, plunging them into darkness.

"Is Peeves the poltergeist Uncle Charlie told us about?" one voice piped up.

"Shh!" Harry said sternly.

Peeves was making his helter-skelter way up the corridor, ricocheting off the walls and singing crude songs of his own invention in a loud voice.

 

 _"Fee, fie, fo, fum!_

 _Peeves got a whiff of a teacher's bum!_

 _Be he lean or be he fat,_

 _Peeves bets teacher looks a prat!"_

 

There was a snicker from the boys, quickly stifled.  Harry rolled his eyes at adolescent humour, but was praying Peeves's song didn't mean he'd heard them.  Fortunately, the poltergeist had never needed an immediate audience for his misbehaviour, and he sailed past their hiding place, still humming happily to himself.

After a moment or two of wary listening, Harry relaxed.  _"Lumos!"_ he said, and his wand lit up, illuminating two bright, eager young faces.

"Uncle Harry, you're the best!" Lucien told him admiringly.

"Hey, this is really nifty," young Harry observed, peering around.  "Is this a secret passage?"

He was clearly quite ready to explore it there and then, and Harry nearly groaned aloud.  "If it is, you'll have to look some other time," he told them firmly.  "And your mum'll have my guts for garters, showing you this.  Come on, let's get out of here before that nuisance Peeves decides to come back."

He dragged the pair of them, protesting, out of the hole and continued to escort them back to Gryffindor Tower.  The Fat Lady was quite surprised to see him with the twins and said so.

Harry grinned at her engagingly.  "Just making sure these scamps go back to bed."

"They shouldn't be out at this hour anyway," she scolded.  "Password?"

"Hopscotch," Lucien piped up, and she swung open, tutting all the while.

Harry insisted on seeing the boys back to their dormitory, even though they both fervently assured him that it wasn't necessary.  He knew them both better than that.  He couldn't stop them getting out of bed again later, of course, but that was someone else's problem.  He made sure they both got under the covers, then quietly left them to it.

Walking back through the dimly-lit common room was a nostalgic moment.  He paused in front of the fireplace, looking up at the big wooden plaque above it with the names of various Gryffindor head-boys and –girls, including his parents and himself, and smilingly looked over the photographs of Quidditch teams, a little amused when he waved at himself from one of them.  It had been a long time since he'd been here, but it didn't feel like more than five minutes ago.

Shaking his head, Harry let himself out of the portrait hole.

"I hope I can get some rest now," the Fat Lady grumbled to him.

Harry laughed.  "I wouldn't bet on it!"  He started down the passage – then stopped, and turned back to her.  "Things don't change much around here, do they?" he said, smiling.

 

 **\- The End -**


End file.
